The Princess Diaries  The KiGo Edition
by SHADO Commander
Summary: Co-WINNER OF THE 2011 FANNIE for BEST KIGO!  It's so the royal drama as Kim learns that she's heir to the throne of the assassination prone nation of Genovia, while Shego's forced to find a new employer. Will all roads lead to the final & ultimate battle of Red vs Green?  Shego exposes a few closely held secrets and Kim hides in the closet as CHAPTER 5 finally arrives!
1. Chapter 1

_**UPDATED AUTHOR's Note - 7/30/2012- ** This story was originally supposed to have been my entry in Slipgate's Valentine Contest, and __even though I had several other stories running at that point, the deadlines for __that contest, combined with a conversation in the Writer's Forum seemed to make immediately diving into writing this story a necessity. However, as usually happens with me, one idea spurred another and what was going to be a brief romp turned into a much larger and more serious drama. The original contest, needless to say, has long since come and gone. In the meantime, however, the first four chapters of THE PRINCESS DIARIES have gone on to win a **FANNIE AWARD** (tied with Sobriety's magnificent MOST WANTED for **BEST KIGO of 2011**,) so while completetion of this story had taken a back seat to the finishing of my uber-epic AT THE CENTERFOLD OF THE STORM, that monster is now in it's final chapters, so for all those who've fav, followed and waited, I'm pleased to say that PRINCESS DIARIES is now back in production at full steam ahead. One little warning though... the terms of the original contest dictated the that the story couldn't have an M rating, but now that THAT's gone, there may be a scene or two that MAY push beyond that envelope. Expect to see the new chapters popping up VERY soon. **Legal disclaimers: **Kim Possible, Shego, Ron Stoppable, Dr. Drakken, Dr. Director, Doctor Anne Possible, Dr. James Possible, The Tweebs, Monique, Motor Ed, Professor Demnetor, Jack Hench, Bonnie Rockwaller and the Lowardians are the creations of Mark McCorkle and Bob Schooley, and those names are all trademarks of the Disney media organizations. Clarisse Renaldi, Joseph and the nation of Genovia are the creations of Meg Cabot, whose The Princess Diaries have also been made into two feature films by the aforementioned Disney. Use in use in this context is probably considered fair under parody law, but just in case: this work was not created for profit, no money changed hands etc. Also, this story takes place at a time at which all sexually active human characters are over the age of 18 and are legally consenting adults.._

##################

**The Princess Diaries – The KiGo Edition**

**by SHADO Commander**

##################

CHAPTER 1

##################

_**Tuesday, September 23**_

_*** click- BEEP!***_

Okay Diary, we're trying something new today. No more writing, just speaking into this new software that stores my voice directly to my Kimmunicator's hard storage with a triple encryption algorithm that even the Tweebs would have trouble cracking. No, this wasn't my brainstorm. It was all Mom's idea, and somehow she got Wade to agree to set it up. Why?

Because my Mom is crazy, that's why!

Well… to be a little less harsh…

Part of it is that I threatened to do something incredibly violent to my brothers a few months ago, the last time they stole my old diary. But my mom also thinks that if I talk things out to myself, then go back and listen to them later, I might be able to solve some of the issues that she _thinks_ I'm having. Her theory is that part of the therapeutic effect of having a diary is diminished during the act of physically writing the words down, because I have a mental filter that engages and censors what I'm really thinking at the same time it's thinking about spelling and grammar. With talking, on the other hand, it supposedly all just tumbles out. That's what she _thinks_, anyway.

What it really is, is a compromise - what my mom really _wanted_ was for me to start seeing a shrink. Yeah, right! Like there's any way I'm going to do that. After all, what is going to a psychiatrist except a tacit admission that you think you might be going crazy? And I'm not going crazy. I'm not.

I've just been a little… stressed.

No, seriously, it's so not the drama. And fortunately, while my mother's the brain surgeon and I'm just her daughter and a kid straight out of high school, I AM a legal adult now. And I HAVE saved the world a few times so I must have something going for me upstairs, right?

But that last part is why Mom thinks I'm going nuts. She _thinks_ I've been holding my emotions in way too tightly as a coping mechanism for way too long; and that I've been becoming less social, and, um… communicative of my feelings as a result of all the strange things that have happened to me over the last few years. And of course, that's true to an extent. I mean, things have happened to me that nobody else has a frame of reference for: I've had my body swapped with a boy, been bound at the molecular level to my worst enemy, gained and lost super powers, had my emotions altered and my mind controlled, broken more bones than Evil Knievel, been nearly killed about 1346 times, all culminating in my being kidnapped by aliens just as I was about to graduate from High School, and having to join up with Drakken and Shego to stop the Lowardians. The only person in the world who COULD understand was Ron.

And okay, my breaking up with Ron had something to do with mom's concern too, but honestly, that was just the two of us realizing that we really, really weren't ever going to be compatible _that way._

Yeah, _that way._ As in 'We did _it_." Or, to be more precise, we _tried_ to do _it_. A couple of times, in fact. But SOMETHING would always seem to happen to make everything go terribly, terribly wrong. I'm not talking about he couldn't… um, you know… or that I had the girl equivalent of the same. I'm talking about things that would have scared away anyone except a couple of teenagers with a desperate case of overflowing hormones.

You know those movies, the ones where all the couples keep sneaking off to have sex, even though they KNOW there's an axe murderer in the woods? Well, it turns out that they're true. Teenagers will go through ANYTHING to have sex, no matter what the horrific consequences might be.

Of course, it wasn't until about halfway through our final attempt at de-virgining ourselves that I finally realized that. AFTER I'd accidentally blackened my eye and dislocated my wrist, and Ron had broken his nose, and we'd both fallen on the floor a half dozen times, when we BOTH ended up on the floor on opposite sides of the bed. I remember the dull throbbing in the back of my skull from where it had tested the structural stability of the faux-cherrywood flooring, and hearing Ron moan, and somehow… we both managed to crawl back on the bed, swearing that we were going to DO this if it killed us... and then we just collapsed and lay there, sprawled in a pile, looking into each other's eyes and at the physical wrecks we'd become trying to do something that was anything but sensual and romantic.

It should have been humiliating. It should have been heartbreaking.

And instead, at the exact same moment, we'd both started laughing.

And at that moment I _knew_:

"You don't want to do this anymore either!" I'd suddenly accused Ron, realizing that he'd been getting clumsier and clumsier every time we'd tried to get more, _ahem,_ 'intimate.' Fortunately, he caught the 'either' and it looked like the weight of the world had suddenly lifted off his shoulders.

"Well, it's not ALL me, exactly, KP," my best friend since pre-k sighed, blushing a bright red that was truly astonishing, extending from one protruding ear all the way to the other. "I mean… I wouldn't mind, 'cause I AM a guy, after all, and you're well… YOU. But…"

"But?"

"I don't think my monkey powers WANT us to… you know."

So that's when Ron pulled out this crazy admission about this whole Monkey Master thing and how it's been secretly affecting him for the last two years. I wasn't really aware of just how powerful it had become until he'd had to pull it out in order to fight the Lowardians, but according to Ron, he thinks that it's been the Monkey Power that's been trying to push us apart. It had been subtle at first, manifesting in the form of weird dreams Ron would have where I would turn out to be a synthodrome or an evil clone. Then it had moved to what Ron now calls the 'possession stage," where he would start getting weird impulses to do strange things that he couldn't resist doing, even though he knew they were often wrongsick. And now, for the last month, he'd reached what he was calling the full-monkey treatment, and every time we tried to get 'romantic,' he kept finding himself flashing back to the time I got turned into a monkey. Not just remembering it, but actually _seeing_ me as a monkey.

Yeah, I know. It sounds like the most elaborate "It's not you, it's me," speech in the history of the universe, but it did explain the weird vibe I'd been getting every time we'd tried to take our relationship to a new level; that eerie sensation that kept telling me that _something_ just wasn't right about Ron and myself as anything other than friends. Not to mention Ron's bizarre behavior our entire senior year, the whole pants falling down every time we went out on a date thing AND the fact that on our last three dates he'd brought me bananas instead of flowers. And if the whole things sounds way so the Deus Ex Machina, let me tell you that once you've seen someone glowing blue while the sound of a million chattering monkeys fills the air… well, when someone who really knows about monkeys on that kind of quantum level tells you that something is serious monkey business, you find yourself believing them.

And, to be perfectly honest, at the time I was just glad that Ron was being the gentleman and not pressing for any details on what MY issues were, besides the fact that it was feeling as awkweird for me as it was for him. I mean, call me old fashioned, but I think that when a girl does… that… for the first time, it should be with someone that she really wants to be with, and who returns those feelings in return. But how do you explain to someone who's been your best friend forever, that on reflection you're not so sure if you were ever really in love with anything other than the idea of being in love? The last two months hadn't even been about love anymore. It had been like a competition I was determined to win; an adversary I was determined to defeat.

Okay, so given all of that, I can see why my mom might think I might have some… things… to work out. And maybe I have been a little out of sorts for the last five or six months. And I did decide to put off selecting a college to go to for another semester… And yes, I do sometimes sit there and stare into space without really seeing anything. But that's normal, right?

Right?

But no, my mom _thinks_ I'm repressing my feelings, and no matter how many times I try to convince her that I'm just… going through a phase, she just gives me _that_ look. _That_ look is the only known counter to the puppy-dog pout that we Possible women have perfected, and I'm not allowed to describe it exactly because if it was ever acquired by hostile powers, the very universe as we know it might be in danger.

Just… suffice it to say that when my mother, the Brain Surgeon, says, "I don't think you're being honest, not with me and not with yourself" while she uses _that _look, I don't have much of a chance of fighting it. And in any case, how am I supposed to answer something like that anyway?

I mean, to be perfectly truthful, I really don't know what I want anymore. I still like being a hero, and I like making a difference but…

Totally honest, huh Mom?

Okay, I'm going to say this once, just once, and never again, 'cause it's just about the stupidest thing I could ever say. It's ridiculous, it's preposterous and… my mom's probably kinda right about me being more stressed than usual because…

Well, it's just that ever since she and Dr. Drakken were pardoned… Shego's been completely off my radar and I…

I miss…

I miss the thrill of testing myself against her. That's it. It's like she was the gauge I measured myself by, the only one who every really challenged me on a physical level. No, I'm not talking about some kind of 'fight club' thing, but it is as if this huge part of my life, a critical part of what made me ME is just... gone.

And I have no idea what to do about it.

_*** click- click- BEEP!***_

Okay, I just waited an hour, then came back and listened to everything again, just like my mom suggested.

I did it calmly. I listened objectively.

And I think Mom's right.

I miss SHEGO?

I am going crazy.

##############

**Wednesday, October 2, **

_*** click- BEEP!***_

Hey Diary.

Me again.

Just when I thought my life couldn't get any weirder, it did.

I was coming home from Club Banana… yeah, I know, I don't work there anymore, but I like helping Mo out, and I figure if I keep showing up just to chat and help fold the jeans, she won't start thinking I'm holding something against her for letting me go.

Oh, didn't I ever mention that before? Yeah, I guess I didn't bother to enter it in my written diary. The truth is that my best friend who's not a boy I've known since pre-k fired me from the only 'real' job I ever had that I liked. It's totally not her fault, of course, and I can see how the other girls would have been completely justified in complaining about having to cover for me when I…

But I'm getting off the subject.

So I was coming towards the house and I saw three strange cars in front of the house. Not strange as in "Motor Ed sixteen tires with rocket launcher strange," but strange as in they didn't belong there. To begin with, the State Police vehicle was unusual. Usually it's the Middleton PD that shows up when the Tweebs detonate something, but give that they're off at Space Camp, I couldn't see any reason for law enforcement to be visiting. As for the second vehicle… I rather doubt that my parents would be expecting a visit from anybody who drives a Rolls-Royce Phantom VI… especially given that there were less than four hundred ever made. The last vehicle, however, made the others make sense. A completely unremarkable sedan that the eye would normally slide right past… unless, like me, you notice that it doesn't have any identifying characteristics at all… and already know that this strangely over-generic motorcar is the actually preferred form of transport for a certain semi-secret law enforcement agency when they're trying to be unobtrusive.

Which is why I wasn't surprised at all to find Dr. Director sitting in the living room with my parents. I WAS a bit surprised to find that they were sharing tea, as Betty is normally a coffee drinker. And what totally threw me off were the other two individuals; a swarthy-skinned man dressed entirely in black who would probably look extremely intimidating were it not for the fact that his left leg and right arm were in casts, and an older woman with an aristocratic bearing and a Calina Klein jacket that cost more than my father and mother together make in six months.

"Ah, dear, you're home," My mom gulped. She looked extremely nervous. And worried. My mom rarely looks worried, so this was worrying.

A quick look to the right showed that my Dad had the same nervous look. Even Dr. Director looked nervous as she jumped to her feet with a suddenness that I'd never seen that uber-competent woman display.

"Kimberly Anne Possible," Betty spoke formally. "I would like to present you to Her Royal Majesty, Clarisse Renaldi, Queen of Genovia."

##############

For once, the fact that Shego crawled out of bed looking like something the cat had drug in was only partially because of her hangover. The other part was because she had, in fact, spent much of the previous evening being drug about a cat… a two ton saber-toothed Persian, to be specific… which DNAmy had created while in the midst of one of her manic depressive funks.

There had been a time when DNAmy hadn't been Shego's problem. However, despite having been "pardoned" for her part in helping save the world from the Lowardians, the green ex-villainess had still been legally obligated to fulfill the terms of her contract to Drew Lipsky and the blue-skinned fool had foolishly agreed to "host" the no longer completely sane biologist as a favor for Global Justice in the hopes that Amy might be able to produce something of value to the scientific community if properly supervised. Shego had thought the idea was daft… the idea of the former Dr. Drakken being a proper supervisor for anyone had seemed doomed to failure… but given that Amy HAD cured the common cold and herpes in the six months she'd been here, Shego had been forced to admit that maybe there was something to it after all. Unfortunately, that meant that when the Cuddlebuddy obsessed genius forgot to restrain one of her little genetic "doodles" before she passed out from her typical overdose of peppermint schnapps, it was Shego's job to put the resulting mess back in the kennels/test tubes/vats. In the last three weeks alone, Shego had had to deal with killer sheep, what she thought was a hybrid of an octopus and an IRS auditor, a six headed snake that inexplicably sang the entire O-Boys catalog in perfect harmony, and a plastic eating jellyfish with a special fetish for spandex that had left Shego naked and covered with spooge before she'd finally shoved it in a freezer.

Shego shivered in disgust as she made her way into her tiny bathroom and stared at the rings under her eyes. Who in their right mind got blitzed on peppermint schnapps?

Stepping into the small shower stall, Shego reached up and grasped the neck of the shower spigot with her right hand and turned her plasma up to the right temperature for pre-heating the water. It took forever for water from the main boilers to reach her room here at the ass end of the former lair, but she'd rather deal with having to be her own heating element than put up with the noise of the contractors working on Drew's latest grand experiment. Why the Henchco henchmen had been able to do the same thing while making a fraction of the noise these union jackasses made was yet another cross Shego felt she had to bear.

But not for much longer. Shego had exactly five weeks left on her contract and there was no way she was signing up for another year. As far as she was concerned, Global Justice had taken more than enough advantage of her sweet green ass, and her next job would be…

…

Okay, so she had no idea what her next job would be. With nothing illegal on his agenda, Drakken wasn't willing to renew her contract at her current her salary bracket. No surprise there, and when she'd seen Drew's muscle-bound cousin Eddie sneak in the other day, she assumed he'd just applied for the job. Given that his entire motor pool had been wiped out during the Lowardian Invasion and insurance companies don't cover supervillains, he'd be willing to take whatever Drakken was willing to pay. She also knew that the OTHER big blue bane of her life, Hego, was still adding tidbits and 'incentives' to the offer he'd talked Go City into putting up. However, free refills at any Go City Bueno Nacho was not the enticement Hego obviously thought it was, the cash was still way below what she'd been pulling the last few years and she'd already done the hero thing with her brothers before. Going back to that wouldn't just be a huge step backwards, it would also probably end up with her in jail for killing one of her siblings. Probably Hego, but she wouldn't rule Mego out. Now, if the Wegos had wanted to quit Team Go and hook up with her, she might have considered it, but they hadn't offered and she figured they knew that she'd be a much harder task master than Hego would ever be.

No, the only offer that she'd ever really even thought about the possibility of considering so far was the one from Betty Director. The one in the manila envelope which she'd kept meaning to throw out, yet always put back on her dresser to review 'one more time' later.

Maybe she ought to just go back to being a criminal. She was good at it. Damn good. Hell, Jack Hench had tried to hire her away from Drakken a half dozen times in the past, as had Dementor. But there was no way she was going back to being a sidekick; she had street cred now, and knew she could get financing. And if she ever did decide she wanted to take over the world, she could do a better job at it than anybody except maybe Senior Senior Sr.

And on the plus side, if she went back to evil, she'd have an excuse to fight Kimmie again. She hated to admit it, but the stupid little redhead had become a major part of her life, and the fact that they'd gone out with neither of them definitively kicking the other's ass once and for all was like a gaping hole in Shego's existence.

"Gah!" Shego screeched as the water from the pipes suddenly went ice cold again. Slamming the water spigot off rapidly, she stood there, shivering in the shower. She'd actually lost concentration to the point where she'd let her hands go out! What the hell was wrong with her?

With a sigh, she stepped out of the stall and willed the ambient temperature of the air surrounding her body to rise to just a hair below her plasma's ignition threshold. In response, the beaded water droplets slowly began to bubble and turn to steam, but Shego's mind was elsewhere. She had to get out of this funk she was in. She needed to get out and do… something!

Oh, what the hell, she still had a few weeks to make up her mind. Surely there must be SOMETHING she could do that she'd actually enjoy.

##################

She was halfway dressed when the urgent pounding came on the door… which, since she usually wore nothing except a close shave under her trademark suit, meant that she was totally naked but holding the suit in one hand.

"Shego!" It was Drakken, er, Drew, of course. No one else would dare disturb her before she'd actually come out of her room of her own volition. Even for the self-preservationally challenged blue man, though, this was astonishingly persistent.

"Shego!" Drew repeated, knocking furiously. "Are you up?"

"I am now!" Shego growled, unwilling to give up a potential arguing chit by admitting that he hadn't woken her. "What?"

"Turn on your TV! Turn it on!"

"Why?"

"You have to see it. Trust me. ANY news channel."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Shego grumbled, but was intrigued enough to pick up the spare remote from her nightstand and flick the on switch.

Her jaw fell to the floor, where it was quickly joined by her catsuit.

Dumbstruck, Shego sat down naked on the edge of her bed and turned up the sound. Not that she needed to. The picture of a certain redhead and the giant caption in white against red covering the bottom quarter of the screen had already told her all of the story that she really needed to know.

'**KIM POSSIBLE – HEIR TO THE THRONE OF GENOVIA'**

"Oh my God," Shego finally managed to gasp as a weird burning sensation ignited in her chest and an odd little wisp of plasma leaked from her still open mouth. "She really IS a Princess!"


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's note **__–** For those who're wondering, the Genovia and Genovians in this fic are based on those in the movie, not the ones in the book. Hence Renaldi rather than Renaldo and Joe/Joseph rather than Lars. This is simply because plot of the movie begins much closer to where I wanted to start than the books do, with Prince Renaldi already dead; that said, I tend to prefer Cabot's writing style, so the formatting of the chapters will be closer to that of the books. **__Legal disclaimers: Kim Possible, Shego, Ron Stoppable, Dr. Drakken, Dr. Director, Doctor Anne Possible, Dr. James Possible, The Tweebs, Monique, Motor Ed, Professor Demnetor, Jack Hench, Bonnie Rockwaller and the Lowardians are the creations of Mark McCorkle and Bob Schooley, and those names are all trademarks of the Disney media organizations. Clarisse Renaldi, Joseph and the nation of Genovia are the creations of Meg Cabot, whose The Princess Diaries have also been made into two feature films by the aforementioned Disney. And as if I haven't complicated issues enough, The Duchy of Grand Fenwick is the creation of, and copyright by, Leonard Wibberly. Use in use in this context is probably considered fair under parody law, but just in case: this work was not created for profit, no money changed hands etc. Also, this story takes place at a time at which all sexually active human characters are over the age of 18 and are legally consenting adults.._

##################

The Princess Diaries – The KiGo Edition

##################

CHAPTER 2

##################

**Thursday, October 3, **

_*** click- BEEP!***_

Dear Diary

**My current top 5 things to do:**

**1 - Return that book on improving your memory to the library. I keep forgetting about it.**

**2 - Work on my Muay Thai some more… the last time I fought Monkey Fist, some of my kicks were shameful **

**3 - Learn to behave better in the face of visiting foreign dignitaries.**

**4 - Learn not to swear or say things like "shut up" in the face of visiting dignitaries**

**5 - Figure out how the hell to get out of becoming a Princess.**

Okay, so picking up where I left off with part 1. I'm in the middle of having a pretty epic paradigm shift and I'm afraid I'm not handling it very well…

Because, seriously, this is just crazy.

Me? A Princess?

I mean, talk about coming from out of left field. In retrospect, I always wondered why we knew so little about Mom's family, but who could have suspected that one of my grandfathers was hiding THIS big a secret in the closet? He wasn't just a duke or a count; he was an actual Prince, next in line for the throne no less!

That's where #4 on my Things to Do list comes from, by the way. When I was first told this by Queen Renaldi, I'm afraid that in my shock I did tell her to "Shut up!" And there may have been two other words that I don't think my parents knew I knew stuck in between Shut and Up.

Yes, I F-bombed the Queen of Genovia. I was FRAZZLED!

So to get back to the official story. It turns out that my maternal grandfather was born Antony Giovanni Mario Renaldi, heir to the throne, but he chose to let his younger brother, Pascal Eduardo Renaldi, became King after meeting my grandmother. If you know your history, back in those days, the Royals and the common folk rarely intermingled, let alone intermarried… the whole Edward and Mrs. Simpson thing, you know? But the stubborn runs deep in both sides of my family, so when he was told that he couldn't marry grandma, my grandfather told the rest of the royal family what they could do with their royal jewels, skipped town with grams and moved to the U.S. At that point a deal was cut between the state department and Genovia. In agreement for promising not to go back to Genovia and cause unrest (the cold war was still going on, remember) my grandparents got new names and identities, after which they proceeded to start making kids, the first of whom was my mom.

And here's where the plot starts to sicken: Not only did King Pascal die earlier this year, but his designated heir, Crown Prince Eduard Renaldi, was killed in single car collision three months ago without producing any legal heir of his own. It also seems that there's been a long battle for control of Genovia between two factions: the Renaldis on one side and the von Trokens on the other. If the Renaldi's don't produce an heir acceptable to the National Assembly, control of the country will end up in the hands of the von Trokens.

I'd like to just note that the von Trokens are not nice people and leave it at that, but it's actually a lot more complex. Suffice it to say, I've actually already had a good deal of personal experience with a certain member of the von Troken family, though he prefers to go by the name of _Professor Dementor_. Got that? Good, cause there may be a quiz later.

Now, when it comes to the whole royal lineage thing, Genovia doesn't have any silly rules about the eldest male inheriting. On the other hand, they do have this weird quirk about any potential heir having to be formally recognized by the national assembly before the end of their eighteenth year. That's something all the Genovian members of the family have done as a matter of course, apparently, but since none of the American branch even knew about this, anyone older than me is automatically out.

Of course, Grandpa still had three brothers and a sister back in Genovia and THEY all started making kids too, so why should any of this even matter?

Because while I WAS about 14th in line for the throne when the Prince was killed, in the three months since, NINE of the of first ten in line have died of suspicious causes, in mysterious incidents and, in the one definitive case, of a bullet in the back, although that was SUPPOSEDLY a hunting accident. And needless to say, most of the remaining cousins don't seem to be too interested in inheriting the job right now. As Joseph… that's Queen Renaldi's head of security… puts it, only an idiot would want to be next in line on the way to the slaughterhouse. And THAT'S when someone got the bright idea to track down what had happened to my Grandfather, which led to my mom and her siblings and ultimately to me.

So now you understand why my parents looked so nervous. If I agree to do this, I could literally be putting my head on a chopping block, daring someone to take a shot at me.

So why am I even considering it? Well, it seems that Queen Renaldi and Dr. Director had one more big shoe waiting to drop on me.

Apparently the safety of the free world may depend on it.

I know, that sounds a bit far fetched. After all, if you look up Genovia in any encyclopedia or on the net, you're not going to find much beyond a lot of ads for bed and breakfasts and articles about pears. That's P-E-A-R-S, as in the fruit. Apparently Genovian pears have a completely unique flavor that no one's ever been able to duplicate in a pear grown anywhere else in the known world, and a huge portion of the Genovian national economy is based on that single product. So, naturally, someone eventually got curious as to exactly what it was that made Genovian pears so unique, and after several major studies concerning the climate and the local agricultural techniques, someone started taking soil samples and literally hit paydirt.

Or, to be more specific, Pinotium 64.

Right now, Pinotium is still a highly classified military secret, but someday it may be what powers spaceships to the Moon and Mars. Pinotium also turns out to be one of the secret elements that powered the core of my old Centurion suit, so in the wrong hands, it could cause a whole lot of trouble. So would you like to take a wild guess as to where the world's largest known supply of Pinotium is buried? If you said in a thin vein that runs along the bottom of the exact same valley where those famous Genovian Pears are grown, you get a gold star. That one vein is all anyone has found so far, and while it extends just barely into the neighboring nation of Dementia in one direction, and terminates underneath the Duchy of Grand Fenwick in the other, those countries have only 5 and 6 percent of the world's total Pinotium reserves, respectively. Genovia has 87 percent.

So, while very small geographically, those three nations effectively control what may end up becoming one of the most important strategic resources for the 21st century. And of those, U.S./Fenwick relations are sometimes rocky, while Dementia is openly hostile to just about everybody. Genovia and the U.S., on the other hand, have managed to have fairly cordial relations, but that's almost certain to change if the Renaldi line dies out and the reins of power in the country are transferred to the Von Trokens. I don't even want to think about what Dementor could do if he had that kind of access, and I don't think anyone has any doubts as to who may be behind the run of bad luck the Renaldi family has been having.

But…

I don't WANT to be a Princess. I never have, and can't imagine who in their right mind would actually want to be one. I've always thought that the whole idea of being a princess was kind of…

Stupid.

I know, I know, there are all those girls who've grown up on the whole "Disney Princess" thing, but in the real world a Princess is about as useful as a Christmas ornament. Yeah, it looks pretty and you trot it out on special occasions for everyone to look at but what does it DO?

And it'll destroy my life. Totally and completely. Not only would I have to give up my American citizenship, but it would mean that my life would never really be my own again. The pressure to produce multiple Heirs would be bad enough… ick!... but do you have any idea how hard it would be to go on a mission with a flock of Genovian Secret Service surrounding you? Why would I want that? Who in their right mind would?

But let's face it. Of all the potential heirs, I'm also the one with the best chance of surviving the honor. Or, as Joe says, at least force the conspiracy to come out into the open so that they can make things safe for the NEXT girl in line.

**Friday, October 4, **

_*** click- BEEP!***_

HELP!

The world has now officially gone mad. Somehow the word got out early that I'm a Princess. Or, that I could be, that is. I still hadn't made up my mind, but it's like fate is forcing me into this direction.

About the only bright spot is that I got a call from Monique, who heard from Tara that Bonnie had a total freak-out when she heard. Apparently she climbed into a tree in her back yard and refused to come down for hours. I suppose it's really not that funny, but I don't have much to smile about at the moment.

I really, really, don't want to do this.

I don't.

But I don't think I'm going to have any choice…

Why do I always have to be such a damned hero?

############################################

Shego stared at the screen, dumbstruck.

This COULDN'T be right.

If Kim was a Princess, the heir to the throne, there was no way they would let her keep doing her missions. And Kimmie wouldn't let them do that to her.

Would she?

With a growl of irritation, Shego realized that she wasn't sure. She'd thought that she'd understood the girl, but this bombshell was proving that obviously missed a hell of a lot in her basic research. It wasn't that she was obsessive or anything, but she'd thought that she'd conducted a pretty thorough investigation into all things Kim Possible over the years they'd been going at each other. She knew what kind of shampoo she preferred, the brands of underwear she bought… she'd even kept a paper that Kim had turned into her while she was Miss Go and had it sent in for a thorough handwriting analysis (the expert said Possible was potentially prone to violence and probably repressed too many of her personal feelings. Doy!) No, if there had been anything about being related to royalty, Shego was certain that she would have remembered it… especially given her now ironic favorite nickname for Kim.

But the news just kept repeating the same tiny little loop of the story in a frustrating fifteen minute cycle, promising 'new details as they came in" while the same annoying ads continued to put additional cash on the advertising departments' line sheet. Finally, after watching almost identical stories by the nearly identical meat-puppets on all three of the major cable news networks, she gave up any hope of learning something useful via the boob tube and pulled out her laptop. Linking to her personal satellite phone so that she would bypass Drakken's internet hookup, she quickly began pulling down as much information as she could with a speed and level of skill that would have surprised most of those who knew her. Shego had learned a long time ago that some skills were far more valuable when people didn't know you had them, and they were far more likely to leave her in the presence of a computer unattended if they weren't aware of how quickly she could bypass their security protocols. Hacking into the networks files and following the story back to its source was the work of just a few seconds. Unfortunately, the story really had just broken, and the bits were still scattered everywhere, but eventually the whole thing began to become cohesive and make a little more sense.

So. Kim hadn't known she was a Princess, and apparently neither had her mother. But why the rush? A few more keystrokes brought up the strange circumstances of the death of the Crown Prince, as well as those of other members of the Renaldi family. That led to the discovery of the von Troken family, and the connection to Dementor.

Dementor…

Like a zombie, she put the laptop aside, walked to the front door and started to open it.

Only to find Drakken standing there, his hand poised to knock.

"Shego, I…" The blue man began… and then his jaw hit the floor as Shego finally remembered something rather important.

She'd never actually remembered to get dressed.

Reflexively slapping her slack-jawed current employer across the face, she stepped back into the room, closed the door, retrieved her sat phone and slid the catsuit she'd been about to put on onto her taut pale frame. What the hell had happened there? Her catsuits were light and non-restricting, but they weren't the same as being nude.

Making sure she had everything this time, she stepped back out the door again and looked at Drakken, still curled up on the floor, convulsively clutching his slapped face and whimpering something about "not being hitten again."

"I'm assuming you weren't standing outside my door all that time," Shego began, picking the blue scientist up by the collar with a bit less than her usual roughness by way of an apology. "So what did you want?"

Realizing that his skull wasn't about to be beat in, he looked at her hopefully. "Um… a little problem on the concourse…?"

"Yeah, yeah," she sighed, following his mincing little footsteps back out to the main section of the lair where a half dozen henchmen… oops, excuse her terminology, a half dozen _lab assistants_… were attempting to restrain a giant frog with what appeared to be a small gold crown growing out of its head. They weren't being very successful in the task, however, and as Shego watched, the frog's long pink tongue shot out and snared one screaming assistant, pulling him into its gaping toothless jaws, where he disappeared with an ominous 'glomping' sound.

"Could you… maybe…?" Drakken whined piteously.

"I got it," Shego sighed, striding forward and grabbing the creature by the crown… which, as she'd suspected, really was part of its head… and delivering a firm kick to its rump. That had the desired effect, although she WAS a a bit surprised when not one but TWO lab assistants came hurtling out of the creatures startled maw. Looking at Drakken, who raised a single finger in response, she delivered a second, harder kick and a third assistant was pedo-regurgitated back into the world.

As all the assistants rushed to the aid of their frog-bile covered associates, Shego gently picked the now totally stunned creature up over her head and walked back to the labs without a word. DNAmy didn't even bother to look up from the book of fairy tales she was reading. As Shego entered, the gap-toothed scientist simply motioned towards an open enclosure on one side of the room where the green woman deposited the frog prince.

The silence was fine with Shego. She absolutely, definitely didn't want to know about the lipstick marks she'd noticed on the frog's snout. No wonder the poor thing had tried to escape.

"_Sorry Amy,"_ Shego mused as she retreated to the ladies room to remove the various liquids the outsized amphibian had secreted during their brief stroll. _"Guess not all plans to become princesses are created equal…"_

And like a dark cloud, that single thought brought back to mind the distasteful task she'd been planning to do before the web-toed distraction; her bad humor increasing as she walked towards the still recovering lab assistants and heard all conversation in the room die as she approached. No, there were no cheers; there weren't even a few mumbled words of thanks. Just dead silence as she passed through the now quiet central area, the assistants parting like the Red Sea before her, their eyes filled with an unvoiced sense of… awe? No, fear. It was always fear. Of her strength. Of what she could do.

It had been like that ever since she'd woken up green and glowing, her childhood and her future stolen from her in a single second. Everyone feared her. No matter how hard they tried to hide it, everyone always had. Even her own brothers.

Everyone, except for one person: the singular and unique exception that Shego had used as a focus for the last three years.

And she wasn't going to let the unfinished business between them go any longer. No matter what the cost.

By now she'd reached the refuse area near the service access of the lair. Due to the high cost of ultra-confidential trash pickup, Draken had long ago opted to go with the private incinerator option, but firing up the massive device was a pain, so the huge room filled with garbage would sometimes go un-emptied for weeks at a time.

Fortunately, she was able to find what she was looking for after only a few minutes. It seemed Dementor's preference for using blood-colored shipping envelopes had a few advantages, and the fact that it was still unopened meant that the insides wouldn't have been too soiled.

Pulling out the contents, Shego she scanned down the list of items he had proposed. The terms. The start date.

The specific duties.

She looked at the dollar figure again and thought about how many issues she still had that revolved around Kim.

Would this settle them, once and for all?

No, better to ask if she could imagine _not_ going through with this. Spending the rest of her life not knowing; wondering _'What if?' _

_Could she live with that?_

That made the decision an instant one. Pulling out her sat phone, she punched in a long string of numbers and hit "send."

The sound of the phone picking up on the other side was almost nonexistent, but Shego heard it. They wouldn't say anything. It was all up to her.

"I want to talk to you about the job," She heard her own voice say.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's note **__– OMG! An update on this one! I've had a version of this floating around for a bit, but there was something that felt a little OC about one part, and I didn't want to move forward until I had that resolved. Also, this is a little shorter than previous entries as an experiment. Legal schtuff at the bottom. _

##################

The Princess Diaries – The KiGo Edition

By SHADO Commander

##################

CHAPTER 3

##################

**Saturday, October 5, **

_*** click- BEEP!***_

Dear Diary

BEING A PRINCESS SUCKS!

You would not BELIEVE the CRAP I've had to put up with for the last 24 hours, 'learning' all the things that a proper Princess of Genovia is supposed to know. And by 'learning' I mean a bunch of people telling me things that make no sense and expecting me just to swallow it all and smile!

Well, I'm not swallowing and I'm sure as hell not smiling.

Maybe this sounds a little conceited, but I know that I'm NOT stupid and somehow I've managed to do just fine running all over the world for the past couple of years. Yet, now, suddenly, everyone's expecting me to change everything about myself just because of who my grandfather was? And they want me to do it all this very second, and every time I screw up they all look at me like I'm some poor pathetic substitute for a REAL princess, and how horribly put upon THEY are for having to drum all of this princessy-BULLSHIT into my thick skull! AUUGHH!

Oops. I just trashed one of these practice tiaras they gave me. Not sure how I'm going to explain how it got tied into a pretzel, so I think I'm going to just drop it behind the dresser and pretend to forget it when we leave tomorrow. Yes, we're leaving for Genovia tomorrow! Because, you know, when you keep getting your heirs shot out from under you, it makes perfect sense to send the latest unlucky bastard right back to the same place where the last half dozen bit the big one. And never mind that this is an area where I have more experience than all of Genovia's so called experts combined, or that, despite appearances, the security at my folks place was better than anything GJ or Genovia can provide, nobody's even listening to me except to tell me when I'm saying things wrong. Or doing things wrong. WHO THE HELL CARES which hand I'm HOLDING THE DAMN SPOON IN?

Oh, apparently the entire nation of Genovia cares. People in the U.S. wouldn't get this upset if I was catching and cooking bald eagles, but eat a Genovian Pear from the wrong end? That could cause Civil War! Revolution! Famine!

But apparently my inability to master the finer points of Genovian table manners is only the beginning of my great yawning crevasse of suckage in all things cultural and refined, culminating in the fact that I even walk wrong… er, incorrectly. Or like a boy, to be specific, which is what Paolo, this guy they brought in to Princess-ify me, says. He actually demonstrated how I should walk, with swaying hips and I burst out laughing until I realized that he was serious and really expected me to move like that. In high heels!

And as for the rest of my clothes… Paolo just took one look at my entire wardrobe and said "no," so I'm currently sitting in a GJ safehouse with nothing to wear except a box of training tiaras, the clothes I had on my back and the little black dress I had hidden at the back of my closet … which was quote "not bad for your figure, but Princesses can't look like sluts, dear" unquote. I told him that I wouldn't look like a slut if I wasn't swaying my hips the way he'd demonstrated, but THAT went over his bald little head.

At least he knew better than to try to cut my hair. Oh, he thought about it and made a lot of snarky comments, but I think someone finally told him that despite my petite little princessy body, I'm quite capable of killing anyone who comes near me with a pair of clippers. And the sad thing is that I'm almost ready to do it.

I hate this. I hate this so badly that I've been on the edge of walking a half dozen times. If I hadn't received personal calls from both the President and the Secretary of State begging me to agree to this, I'd have said screw the entire nation of Genovia. I may still make it the subject of my first formal address, which I apparently have to do at some big pear growers ball, where I will be presented as…

Kimberly Renaldi Annastasia Possible

I mean, it's bad enough that they haven't even left my NAME alone, but Bonnie's going to laugh herself to death when she sees the initials.

And as of tomorrow… well, actually, 4:00 in the morning, so it's essentially tonight… I'll be on a plane to a whole nation full of these people. People who don't seem to understand who Kim Possible is at all.

I really miss Ron right now. I need someone to talk to. Someone who's going to say everything is going to be alright and actually believe it. Because no matter how much everyone says that it'll get better, I'm scared to death that their idea of 'better' is to suck everything that makes me _me_ out of my body and leave a perfect little Princess Puppet in my place.

_*** click- BEEP!***_

############################################

"Vy are we waitink here?"

"Because," Shego explained carefully to the man beside her, "This is the one place we know they HAVE to come."

The man blinked into the darkness, trying to absorb what the green skinned woman thought was obvious. "Und how do ve know zat, again?"

"If they're going to take the Princess to Genovia," She sighed, wondering why it was that the mad scientist types were always so dense with anything outside their chosen fields, "They're going to have to use a plane capable of getting there, right?"

The man nodded, indicating that at least that much made sense.

"So no matter how they get her from the GJ Safehouse, air or ground, they're going to have to bring her to an airfield that can handle a plane like that," Shego motioned towards the rows of hangers down below them, where a small private jet waited next to an empty helipad. "And given that the Genovian embassy plane is at Middleton, they won't want to go there or use that as they're both too obvious. And since GJ is involved, it's a cinch that they're going to want to use one of their high security transports. Trust me, they're coming to Uppertown Intercontinental and that'll be the plane, right there."

"But vhat if…"

"Shh!" Shego commanded. "We've got movement."

The man peered down below, them through the advanced macro-binoculars he'd developed, and grunted in acknowledgement. With out the amplified lenses, the distant airfield would have been just a blur in the darkness… but that was the point. No one would ever think to look for someone this far away, on the roof of a completely unremarkable storage facility.

But Shego's view through her spotting scope was even better, and she'd picked up the ripple of the cloaked GJ hovercraft coming in.

"Told ya," she added with a smirk as the hover shimmered into view… it being too dangerous to try to land something you couldn't see… and set gently to the ground, less than fifty feet from the jet.

"Now," she narrated, as if watching a television rerun instead of a live event, "They'll come out in standard GJ protective formation. Two to three agents first to take defensive positions, then two more and then…"

"ZERE SHE IZ!" the man exclaimed as a familiar head of red hair came into view, being hustled by burly men on both sides. "DO IT!"

"Patience," Shego smiled.

And pulled the trigger.

**Sunday, October 6, **

_*** click- BEEP!***_

SHIT! JUST SHIT! These people are going to get me killed!

Okay, I'm hyperventilating and need to calm down, but when you've just seen half of your 'professional' security detail blown away in an ambush that didn't have to happen, you'd be pissed and freaking too. The only reason my Genovian Security Team are even alive is because they'd taken the advance position and were already on the ramp to the Armored Jet's entry hatch when Agent Jameson got shot.

The worst part is that I wasn't even paying attention when it happened, I was so focused on not walking like a slut while wearing the high heels that were the only shoes I had and wondering what the hell I was supposed to do for clothing in Genovia that the first that I knew there was a problem was when I heard a small sound, kind of a "thwip!" as the front of his jacket went red, then, as I was reaching over to grab him, to break his fall, two other agents had grabbed me and my feet were off the ground as the idiots ran in a perfectly straight line towards the plane, and I can't do a goddamn thing because ANYthing I did was only going to slow us down! The agent to my left got hit next, then the one to the right, and suddenly the hovercraft was too far away and I had no choice except to run an evasive pattern the remaining 25 feet towards the plane, knowing every second that I'd feel a bullet hit my head, writing the end of the brief chapter of Genovian history labeled 'Kim Possible – the Princess who never was.'

Impossibly, though, I somehow made it and then Joseph and his Genovian team were hauling me up the steps, yelling for the pilot to get moving before we found out if the attackers had SAMs as well as sniper rifles. Which, apparently, they didn't, since we got off without further incident, though it was a tense few minutes as we taxied down the runway. If the guards had just gone the other way, the hovercraft could have got us up in seconds, and all my gear except my Kimmunicator and a single laser lipstick I'd tucked in my bra were still on board.

Alright… to be fair, I knew that most of the arrangements were made by Global Justice, which most likely means they were the handiwork of Dr. Director's favorite bootlicker, Will 'totally predictably by the book' Du, so I can't blame the Genovians for the idiocy that had the transfer taking place out on the open tarmac, or having the plane out there waiting for a good ten minutes before the hover arrived.

That doesn't change the fact that if I'd been any other princess, my brains would currently be splattered across the pavement next to the bodies of Agents Jameson, Murtoch and Gonzalez… OR the fact that there was no reason for any of those three to be dead either. Wade could have found me a series of rides that would have been impossible for anyone to predict, I'd TOLD them that, but those wouldn't have had room to also carry a royal entourage of agents and bodyguards. Because you couldn't possibly let a princess of Genovia go out without a proper escort on a 'Royal Jet,' could you? Even if she'd have actually been safer that way?

So the reason those agents are dead is because I let Joseph and Dr. Director convince me that their precautions would be adequate… that using a GJ jet would be safe enough… because I could have stopped the whole thing at any time just by refusing to go.

And when the hovercraft came in for a landing and I saw the plane just sitting out on the open tarmac, practically screaming 'target,' I should have been feeling an icy ball of dread starting to form in my stomach. And what was I thinking about instead? Which end of the goddamn pear I was supposed to eat first.

God, so many chances to stop everything and I never took ANY of them. I was so busy freaking about the stupid princess thing that I never focused on doing the thing that I do best. Not until the first bullet had already been fired and Jameson was falling in front of me…

Which, in the end, makes the whole damn thing MY fault.

Shit.

_*** click- BEEP!***_

_*** click- BEEP!***_

Alright… I've had a little while to calm down. I spent some time looking at the file photos for the three agents who got killed. I was so preoccupied before that I never really looked at any of them, but the least I can do is remember their faces. To keep them in mind whenever I start getting upset with people like them for trying to do their job. It's not me that they were going to get killed; it's me that got THEM killed, because I was the target.

None of which alters the fact that the way everyone's been doing things is about to change, stat.

Joe was a little irked when I told him that I wanted to conduct a thorough review all of his security precautions immediately, but he backed down pretty quickly when I told him that the option was coming home with no princess candidate at all. Because I could, and would, formally renounce all claim to the throne unless I was my own head of security.

Genovia needs a princess? Fine. They've got one. But they're not getting a pretty little figurehead and they're sure as hell not getting some insipid creature out of an old Disney cartoon. If they want Princess Kim Possible, they're getting someone with a slightly different role model to work from.

I'm thinking Xena.

_*** click- BEEP!***_

#####################################

"You didn't szhoot her!" Professor Demontor screamed in shocked frustration. "VHY?"

"I told you this was just a demonstration," Shego shrugged, emptying the chambers of her sniper rifle and carefully policing up the three brass cartridges that littered the ground. "And I nailed three of her bodyguards in the time it took for them to do the transfer. That's ample proof that I COULD have done it, even with the way she was bobbing and weaving at the end."

"Besides…" Pulling out her secure smartphone, Shego pulled up the secret account that she'd set up in Zurich before contacting her former boss' arch rival. "The price, as we discussed before, is one million dollars, in advance. Did you REALLY think I'd take her out for you before you paid up? Or believe that you'd ever pay once your little problem was handled?"

"Ur…" Dementor looked away, knowing that his reputation for attempting to renegotiate contracts after the fact was well earned.

"Yeah," Shego growled. "I don't give out freebies, and I don't complete a contract until I've been paid. When this number…" she tapped the display on the smartphone for emphasis "goes up to a mil, I'll make sure Kim Possible never becomes Princess of Genovia."

"On the other hand," She added, standing to remind the miniscule despot that she was twice his height, "You might want to think about what those GJ bodies down there represent."

"Va..?" Dementor looked up at her ominous pose, suddenly truly comprehending for the first time how truly terrifying this woman really was. He'd known of her strength and plasma, but the skills she'd just exhibited… both with the rifle and in outthinking Global Justice… went far beyond anything he'd anticipated when he'd sent her his offer. And that was to say nothing of the sheer lack of expression she'd shown while casually killing three Global Justice agents in cold blood. Just to make a point. And that meant…

"Yeah," Shego grinned as she watched the realization creep over the tiny teutonic's face. "If I can take them out from this far away, your castle back home doesn't seem so safe anymore, does it?"

Dementor didn't have to answer that one.

"So here's the deal," Shego continued smoothly. "You know my history with Kimmie. If you're hiring me to take the Princess out, that makes it MY contract exclusively, got it? I find out there's anyone else trying to muscle in on the action, you might want to stop taking those little nightly strolls on your veranda."

The green woman stopped, tilting her head as the eerie silence that had followed the shootings was finally broken by the distant sound of sirens.

"That's our cue to go, Herr Professor," She informed her new 'employer.' "So… do we have an understanding now?"

"Yah," Dementor nodded fervently. "It iz clear as crystal, as zey zay, Fraulein Shego."

"Good," The villainess made a smile that would terrify a crocodile. "Then get that money wired and tell all your other agents to back off. Kim and I are going to finish this game we've been playing, once and for all, and you really don't want any of your people getting caught in the crossfire."

#########################################

_Legal disclaimers: Kim Possible, Shego, Ron Stoppable, Dr. Director, Professor Dementor and Bonnie Rockwaller are the creations of Mark McCorkle and Bob Schooley, and those names are all trademarks of the Disney media organizations. The Renaldi Dynsty, Joseph, Paolo and the nation of Genovia are the creations of Meg Cabot, whose The Princess Diaries have also been made into two feature films by the aforementioned Disney. Use in use in this context is probably considered fair under parody law, but just in case: this work was not created for profit, no money changed hands etc. Also, this story takes place at a time at which all sexually active human characters are over the age of 18 and are legally consenting adults.._


	4. Chapter 4

_**Author's note **__– Wow… Sorry guys, I didn't expect chapter 3 to freak so many people out! Trust me, this IS still a Kigo and a romantic-comedy… but I never said it would be a typical KiGo. Legal schtuff at the bottom. _

##################

**The Princess Diaries – The KiGo Edition**

_By SHADO Commander_

##################

**CHAPTER 4**

##################

The high-heeled boots that stepped out of the van onto the tarmac would have looked perfectly suited for a film about female Nazi prison keepers of the oil sheiks, and the woman who wore them wasn't that far off of the stereotype herself. However, rather than a sinister villain, the tall one-eyed redhead who surveyed the chaotic scene laid out before her was generally considered to be one of the good guys.

"The entire area is still sealed off, ma'am," Will Du informed her as he walked up from the grounded GJ Hovercraft. "We scanned the hovercraft for additional explosives, but so far all we've found are the ones in the…"

"Understood," Betty Director nodded, then motioned to the limping man who had followed her from the van as she headed towards the now blocked off and heavily guarded hanger. "Well, come on. We might as well see for ourselves."

Stepping quickly through the door into what had become a hastily improvised morgue, she approached the first of three bodies sprawled on the gurneys… a body that bore a suspiciously familiar face. "So, does he look familiar?"

Agent Murtoch pulled his eyes up from what would be his exact duplicate were it not for the gaping wound in its chest. "Yes ma'am, he does. That's one of the ugly bastards who ambushed us."

"A whole new level of synthodrones," Dr. Director growled. "Combined with Fast-Clone technology. And all three were carrying enough explosives in their guts to take out an airliner... the EMT's only caught it when they realized the bodies weren't bleeding heavily enough."

"So our mystery sniper…"

"Ironic, isn't it?" the one eyed woman nodded. "The explosives were rigged to go off when the plane was 500 miles off the coast… between that and the strength of the charges, we'd never have been able to figure out what happened. Instead, the way we find out is when someone else tried to kill Possible and takes out the imposters instead."

"Well, I think we'd have guessed that something was screwy when Gonzalez and I finally broke out of that warehouse and found out that we'd somehow completed the pickup we never made it to."

The man stopped for a moment and looked at the third body. "Have we found out what happened to Jameson yet?"

"No," Doctor Director shook her head. "But since whoever did it could have killed the two of you as easily as locking you up, there's hope we'll find him alive."

"That said, though," the head of Global Justice continued, "I think its best that the three of you continue to be listed as dead until we know a little bit more about what's going on. The fact that this new synthodrone tech even exists is scary enough, but if three agents could be ambushed and replaced so seamlessly, on the way to pick up the most valuable charge in our custody…"

Murtoch nodded at the unspoken implication… a massive breach in GJ's security that had existed long enough for Drakken's tech to be pirated, improved upon and marketed.

The normally eagle-like gleam in Betty's single eye grew dark and troubled as she looked at her miraculously resurrected agent.

"So until we know how many more of these things may have already infiltrated us, we tell nobody. Not even the Genovians."

########################################

**Sunday, October 6, **

_*** click- BEEP!***_

Hey Diary,

Kim Possible, future Princess of Genovia, rolled into town this morning… although probably not in the manner the Genovians expected. And she brought a you-know-what storm of trouble with her.

But I'm getting ahead of myself, so let me back up and explain how everything came down. It's not like the social columnist for the local Genovian newspaper… which is called the Facts Poire (pronounced Pwaaa,) believe it or not… is going to give me any breaks, so this may be the only place MY side of the story gets told. Even if it ends up being posthumously.

To begin with, the fact that we'd been attacked at the airport had me on high alert. If someone had known about that end of our flight plan, it was logical to expect that someone could have known about the other end. And, unbelievably, it turned out that an official Press Release had gone out three hours before we left that included the time and location of our arrival in Genovia. So, even if there wasn't a leak in our security, anyone with half a brain could have sat down and figured out the fuel capacity of our jet and where we'd have to be starting from, and known pretty much our whole route and when we'd have to be leaving. Brilliant.

Which meant there was no way in hell that I was actually going to fly into Genovia for the official welcoming ceremony that some soon to be fired idiot had thought up and publicized. Instead, I had the plane's flight rerouted into Fenwick International… okay, actually, her majesty, the Queen, had the flight rerouted after a series of long distance calls via Kimmunicator, when the question of who could give orders to the flight crew came up… where we disembarked after I'd spent about twenty minutes rewiring the Royal Jet with spare parts for my Kimmunicator. The Royal Jet then continued on its way, piloted via remote by one Wade Load, who thanks to years of playing flight simulator games is probably qualified to fly just about every aircraft on the planet, all while my Genovian escorts and flight crew sat there stewing over the little girl's paranoia.

Until, of course, the Jet disappeared off the radar approximately three miles out from the announced landing zone. Probably a SAM of some kind, but given that the Royal Jet didn't have military grade sensors, all we know for sure is that there was a massive surge of heat and kinetic force, followed by a fireball raining down into the Pear orchards owned by one of the von Troken cousins. After that, I have to say, there seemed to be a bit more willingness to listen to what 'the little girl' had to say, especially after our ride into Genovia ended up coming with a military escort courtesy of Grand Duchess Gloriana of Grand Fenwick, who turned out to be not much older than myself and a close personal friend of our mutual acquaintance, Wally… aka Prince Wallace the Third of Rodingham.

Meanwhile, as the Royal Fire Brigade was extinguishing the blaze in the von Troken orchards, her Majesty, the Queen, was putting out the emotional fires as she informed the key staff that the heir presumptive and her attendants were, in fact, still quite alive, but to withhold that information from the press until I'd reached the relative safety of the royal castle, the security of which I was in the process of massively upgrading via Wade's temporary 'borrowing' of several Department of Defense spysats.

What that meant, however, was that rather than arriving with all the pomp and circumstance of an official welcome in the fancy Royal Carriage that was still waiting at the airport, I instead showed up hopping off the back of an armored troop carrier, wearing a borrowed pair of blue jeans courtesy of the duchess, Fenwickian-issue combat boots and flak vest, and a T-shirt that read "Grand Fenwick is for Lovers," the last purchased from a shop in the FIA. The fancy dress I was supposed to have worn? That's still in its plastic cocoon inside my surviving luggage. If anything else happened, I wanted to be ready to do something about it, though Joe did eventually convince me to wear the damn tiara.

Made for great picture on the front page of Facts Poires. I'm sure Bonnie will have subscribed by now, given that the editor, one Helga Donatella von Troken, has a decidedly anti-Renaldi stance.

So, needless to say, the local press has immediately christened me the "Army Surplus Princess." Maybe they think that a dead pretty princess would have sold more commemorative papers than a live one in jeans, but I know which one I prefer. So the fancy dresses are staying packed and I'll make do with Genovian Military Issue until I can get something more fashionable delivered from Club Banana Europe. Although, to be quite honest, I actually quite like the cut of the Genovian fatigues, and as my makeover artist Paolo and all of the fashionista types around here are so fond of saying 'it's all about the image you project."

So nobody has to know that's a hairdryer in my holster and not something a bit more deadly.

_*** click- BEEP!***_

###################################

"I don't care what happened afterwards, I expect my payment now," Shego growled into the phone. "My part of the assignment was completed."

"_I do not believe…"_

"…that I have enough evidence to have both you and your wife put away for life?" Shego retorted. "Oh, believe me I do. Tell me, do they still have those lovely dungeons beneath scenic Genovia Castle?

Shego glanced around the crowded airport to make sure no one was near enough to have overheard that too specific reference. It had been hard enough to sneak away from prying eyes here in the International airport, but once she landed in her next destination, Dementia, it would be almost impossible to have a conversation that wouldn't be monitored by either physical or electronic means.

"_I…"_ The voice at the other end of the line faltered. _"You promised…"_

"To do exactly what you asked," Shego agreed. "And that's what I delivered. It's not my fault if your expensive toys failed to perform as anticipated. And might I remind you that when you came to me with that plan, I told you that your odds of success would be far higher if you simply hired me to do the actual hit?"

The long silence on the other end told more than any words.

"However," Shego let her voice lighten as she 'gave' in. "Since I believe in satisfied customers, I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'll re-tender my original offer with a 50% discount. That's on top of what you owe me for the placement, alright?"

"_But that's… that's…"_ the man on the other end sputtered.

"Quite within the amount we both know you have budgeted," Shego smiled, knowing the hook had been firmly set. "Do you really think I don't know what the technology you employed costs? My former employer was the inventor."

There was another long pause, which Shego filled by digging a nail file from the pocket of the heavy jacket she was wearing as part of her travel disguise.

"_Very well,"_ The man's voice finally relented. _"One point five million euros…"_

"Excellent," Shego grinned. "I'll have my people contact your people regarding the particulars, your Excellency."

Clicking off the phone, Shego scanned the terminal around her once more. Did she dare call one more 'customer?' It was highly unlikely that anyone would ever compare all the numbers called on the pay-as-you-go phone she'd bought in the airport, and the phone itself would be incinerated into ash and flushed in the ladies room before she boarded her next flight. Still, there was always the chance and it wasn't as if she wasn't being paid well enough to expense a few more phones.

It was amazing, she thought as she headed back to the airport shops to buy a few more phones, how many people suddenly wanted Kimmie dead. Apparently political types were far more willing to spend money than supervillains were, because she'd received far more actual, and much more substantial, offers on the redhead's head in the past few days than she'd had in all the years the Princess had been actively heroing.

And as long as no one ever found out that she was taking money from ALL of them, Shego grinned, she could probably string this game out for quite a few more millions.

#########################################

_Legal disclaimers: Kim Possible, Shego, Dr. Betty Director, Wade Load, Will Du, Professor Dementor, Dr. Drakken, Bonnie Rockwaller and Prince Wallace III of Rodinham are the creations of Mark McCorkle and Bob Schooley, and those names are all trademarks of the Disney media organizations. The Renaldi Dynsty, Joseph, Paolo and the nation of Genovia are the creations of Meg Cabot, who's The Princess Diaries have also been made into two feature films by the aforementioned Disney. Grand Duchess Glorianna and the Duchy of Grand Fenwick are the creations of Leonard Wibberly. Use in use in this context is probably considered fair under parody law, but just in case: this work was not created for profit, no money changed hands etc. Also, this story takes place at a time at which all sexually active human characters are over the age of 18 and are legally consenting adults.._


	5. Chapter 5

_**Author's Note and ****Legal Schtuff at the bottom!** _

###############################*

**The Princess Diaries – The KiGo Edition**

_By SHADO Commander_

##################

**CHAPTER 5**

###############################*

Shego yawned loudly as she dropped her backpack onto the spread out towel she'd borrowed from the "bed and breakfast" she'd checked into a few hours ago. She hadn't had to work hard to affect the look of a lost and bedraggled hiker well enough to convince the elderly owners that she was just a typical college student backpacking through Europe. And that wasn't just because the worn and rumpled tourist clothes she was wearing were of the most beige, nondescript appearance imaginable, having been specifically selected with the intent of drawing as little notice as feasible. Or because her flesh colored makeup was as neutral a shade as she could manage. (Though, granted, she had been forced to go a bit more overboard on the eye shadow than current fashion trends allowed; but how else was she going to camouflage the small bits of green skin that someone might have noticed around the edge of her eyes during the times when wearing her grocery store sunglasses wasn't an option? Like right now, about two hours after sunset?)

No, she had to admit as she slowly massaged her thighs and surveyed her moonlit surroundings; the whole worn and weary part had been no act at all. And that was doubly true now, given that the path up into the mountainside pear orchards… which had appeared to be a smooth, well worn trail from the road down below… had quickly mutated from a simple uphill hike into a skittering dance across a shale-strewn goat track; and had required something just short of rope-free rock climbing in order to reach the vantage point she sought.

Normally, of course, a task like that would have been nothing at all for her, but normally she hadn't just had to ride a horse across half of Dementia in order to sneak across the border into Genovia. And that had come AFTER a turbulent transatlantic flight in crappy coach seats, and an even worse flight into Dementia on an ancient DC 3 whose airframe was in such poor condition that it was a miracle that the wings had stayed on. However, what had made the whole thing almost unbearable was the heavy flesh-toned acrylic makeup, originally designed for special effects makeup work and modified to her specifications, that she'd had to cover her entire body with prior to getting on the plane. Still, green women DID tend to draw attention, so it had been absolutely necessary to cover EVERYTHING on the off chance of a strip search (or somebody a bit too nosey or friendly in the next bathroom stall.) But spending the better part of a day covered from head to toe in the radiation blocking plastic that also suppressed her higher than normal body temperature was incredibly draining, leaving her with only a fraction of her normal strength and speed.

Back in the days with Drakken, she'd have just taken a hovercraft and spared herself the misery of disguised commercial travel. However the radioactive signature of the exhausts of those wonderful machines was now known well enough that someone who knew what to look for could tell if one had been operating in an area for several days afterward, just by scanning the air. Shego hadn't cared about that when her primary job had been being a thief… in truth, she had WANTED people to know she was the one who had stolen the latest whoseywhatsit. Partly out of sheer "I am the badass-est, you can't catch me" arrogance and partly because it was a surefire way to ensure that her favorite teenage sparring partner would soon be heading her way for another scintillating game of red on green.

But for the kind of work Shego was involved with now, the fewer signs that could connect her to the results, however indirectly, the better. And given that only GJ and Drakken's former henchwoman currently had access to that specific hover technology, it was actually safer to fly in disguise under a false name through multiple airport security lines than attempt to hide the glaring "Shego was here!" evidence that flying a hovercraft into Genovia would inevitably leave drifting in the atmosphere. Because Genovia was one of the few places on Earth where a scan for that sort of evidence was not only not an infrequent occurrence, but actually almost impossible to avoid.

Ever since the discovery of Pinotium 64, there'd been increasing concern among the uppity-up types as to exactly what effect living above the huge buried deposits might ultimately have on the people and pears, of Genovia. But at the same time, the fact that Pinotium WAS a classified secret and that the location of the main veins was strictly EYES ONLY meant that the government couldn't just have technicians walking around with air-sniffers and Geiger counters. And giving school kids in the affected areas surveys asking their pee glowed green or if any of their relatives had grown three heads was probably right out.

So, instead, both Genovia and Grand Fenwick had partnered with their high tech allies to place multiple robotic sensors scattered across both countries, cleverly disguised a mailboxes so that the general populace would never start wondering what was up with all the Star-Warzy stuff. And since only placing those sensors in places where there were larger deposits would be a dead giveaway to nefarious types as to where those insanely valuable mother lodes might be located, there were LOTS of surplus but very functional sniffers scattered about, running constantly as decoys. Never mind that most of the people who monitored the sniffers weren't privy as to what they really did (the cover story had to do with air quality studies due to pollen,) let alone which ones were actually planted at the really important locations. What was important was that there were a lot of them and a ping on any one of them was bound to trigger a LOT of unwanted interest on the part of three to five alphabets' worth of impressively acronymed intelligence agencies.

And since Drakken's hovercrafts just so happened to run on P64, and excreted an even rarer blend of Pinotium isotopes that would have set dozens of meters pinging, Shego had reluctantly had to forego her preferred method of conveyance in favor of a more old school approach. As a fallback there WAS a helicopter that she's arranged to have access to, courtesy of her Dementian contact, but even there she was stuck with the fact that female helicopter pilots are rather rare creatures and prone to drawing attention, so that was an option that she was holding off on employing until the last moment possible.

And speaking of moments Possible… exhausted or not, it was time for Shego to get to the work at hand.

Dropping to her knees on the blanket and reaching into the backpack, Shego pulled her hyper-powered tri-oculars from the basket in order to gaze upon the Genovian Palace in the distance. This unobstructed view was the reason Shego had scaled this half-mountain, after all, and once the stabilization and image processing kicked in, the panorama before her truly was spectacularly vivid. Although the ancient building appeared barely the size of coffee coaster held at arms length to her naked eye, thanks to the clear Genovian night air her and the tri-oculars' enhancements, her view through the lenses was crisp enough for her to pick out all the guard positions.

She was about to get an even closer view, however.

Laying the tri-oculars carefully on the picnic cloth, she reached into the pack again and withdrew a bubble-wrapped plastic bag filled with two dozen tiny black micro-copters. Superficially similar to the children's toys that were available for a few dollars at any discount electronics shop, these purpose-built beauties were both considerably smaller than their $9.95 counterparts (each being slightly larger than a U.S. nickel,) and more expensive by several orders of magnitude. But if they performed as planned… and as they had in the past… they would be more than worth the price of their components.

The copters' appearance was followed by what appeared to be an e-reader/tablet computer, a satellite phone and a portable game system. The tablet actually was, in fact, a computer, and could have still downloaded books from the company that manufactured it… if Glamazon actually had actually supported Spindle service in Genovia, which they didn't. However, this tablet could also have cracked into the security systems at NORAD, so it wasn't exactly an off the shelf model. Likewise, the game system's guts had been replaced by a sophisticated control system that could have controlled a real helicopter in a pinch, while the phone had been modified to hook up to transmit and receive an altogether different and more complex array of signals. But that was something that became quite obvious as she clipped the phone and the controller into the tablet to form the control station and activated the lift systems of the first dozen micro-copters.

Taking off in a neat, organized line, the first squadron of micro-copters rose and hovered briefly in the air like gnats, gaining their bearings as each one sent a tiny signal that was caught by the phone's enhanced pickup and piped through to the tablet for processing. The computer, in turn assembled the multiple inputs into an active matrix that "saw" the data from all of the copters tiny sensors not just as the views of separate, but also as parts of a larger group entity in which the individual units served as multiply redundant sensory organs. That redundancy was necessary, as it would take many minutes for the assembled swarm to make the long journey to the castle, and because they were so small it was highly likely that one or more would become a most unappetizing (and insanely expensive) dinner for some night feeding bird or a Genovian Pear Bat.

The tiny size that made them so individually vulnerable, however, was actually their greatest strength, as it made them practically undetectable to any normal surveillance device or the naked eye. And even an abnormally powerful surveillance device… like a certain redhead's ridiculous Kimmunicator… would be more likely to interpret their flitting motions as small insects, while their miniscule energy signatures would be almost invisible amidst the vague background Pinotium haze.

As for their signal transmissions… that was the purpose of having two dozen, and the second squadron was already rising to head into the breach in support of their weaker sisters. Trailing the first group by a few hundred feet, the second team would form a relay line for re-transmitting the data the scouts sent back in tiny dots and dashes of partial bits of information that would only become a cohesive whole once it was assembled. Unlike the scouts, which were primarily sensor arrays with very weak (and therefore hard to detect) transmitters, the relay team's micro batteries and tight-beam radios packed considerably more kick. That did compromise their invisibility to a certain extent, but since they would never get as close to their target, they were far less likely to be detected in the first place. Especially when they hung around lighting fixtures, which was their standard MO, draining power like little energy vampires while hiding in the electromagnetic noise generated by modern streetlamps.

And in an addition that made them the perfect surveillance tool, the second team could also "mate" with the first team, clamping onto them and dumping a portion of their power supply into the scouts' smaller power cells. Not only did the ability to refuel each other on the fly allow the larger supply units to ferry power to any unit that had to stay aloft for an extended period, but it also made it possible for the support team to seek out and retrieve any fallen units should they suffer an untoward accident or system failure. And that meant no micro-copters left behind, which meant a greatly reduced chance of accidental discovery.

It WAS a rather complex method of planting a bug, but Shego had been pondering the question of how to outwit the Kimmunicator sensor grid that was Kim's ace in the hole for years, and this was the best solution she'd been able to devise for spying on the nimble teen. There had been a time when the green woman had actually been daring enough to sneak up outside the heroine's window to gaze in upon her sleeping, but she'd realized almost immediately that actually breaching the glass of the Kim's girly bedroom would have triggered an insane variety of incredibly nasty traps. And it had been even more sobering to realize that most of the traps that she HAD detected weren't even placed there by Kim or her pet geekster, but by Kim's completely insane twin brothers who, while obviously well ahead of Drakken and Dementor, were still a few steps behind Mr. Load in terms of both ability and resources. So, as tempting as it had been to jump through the window and see how well Kim fought when pulled from a dead sleep, she'd resisted the urge… something that she'd been quite glad about later when she'd been a brief houseguest at the Possibles' and gotten a better look at the defenses from the inside.

Yeah, they had been THAT scary.

However, the fact that both moths and the small lizards that ate them could crawl across the glass without being zapped into atoms or setting off klaxons and alarms had planted the seed of an idea in Shego's head. So, as certain technology had happened to become… available… to her, she'd slowly assembled these little copter creations herself, keeping their existence a secret from anybody. Especially Drakken, who would have immediately stolen her little pets and squandered them for some inanely stupid plan that would never work. But of course, Drakken had never really snapped to the inherent tactical advantages of weapon that no one knew you had up your sleeve.

Unlike whoever it was who had shot down the Royal Genovian transport. Had Kim not sent in the empty plane as a stalking horse, even Shego wouldn't have been aware of the fact that she had some serious competition in the Kill-Kim contest. The first she'd known had been when she saw the newspaper headline as she entered Genovia, and until the authorities retrieved the wreckage and someone began some kind of analysis, she had no idea as to what kind of weapon might have been used.

Fortunately, Kim hadn't been killed, and reading of the Princess' subsequent adventures had been the high point of Shego's day. Especially the just short of malicious tones the Facts Poire writers had managed to find to describe Kim's 'army surplus' look and complete lack of any kind of social polish. Who the hell, Shego wondered, had those people been expecting to show up? Some kind of fairy princess? Or Tinkerbell?

With a sigh, Shego reached into the backpack one last time, this time producing a huge sandwich made of a foot and a half of local hard bread and cheese, a large thermos of hot tea, a bottle of a rather nice Fenwickian Pinot and a large bottle of makeup remover. There was no question as to which she'd attack first, however, and her hands were already moving to the fasteners of her clothing. It would be a long night and her skin was dying to get out of the flesh-colored makeup that had encased her for way too long. And while it certainly wasn't gong to be a replacement for her usual sunbath, there wasn't likely to be anyone wandering along up here to notice her green ass as she did a little nude moon-bathing.

Which was going to happen no matter what because she HAD to get the makeup off of her. As in right now, right this second. And not just because it had begun to itch like crazy, but because just as being a werewolf brought issues with silver bullets, Shego's powers came with their own deadly Achille's Heel.

It was a secret that she'd spent millions of dollars and her entire adult life hiding, but the truth was that although she was capable of generating massive plumes of plasma at temperatures that melted steel, and brief superhuman bursts of strength that could rip a bank vault door from its hinges, at her core she was still human. And the simple biological mechanics of the human body made it impossible to manufacture the kind of energy required for those feats. Not through normal means or for more than a few seconds, that is. However, the same mutation that had allowed her to emit and control certain forms of radiation and plasma had also somehow altered her skin so that it acted in a manner similar to chlorophyll.

Not exactly like chlorophyll, naturally. Despite the green skin, she wasn't a plant. But light, heat and other forms of energy were sucked into her skin and stored… somehow. No one had been able to figure out _exactly_ how and nor were they likely too, given that Shego had personally made sure that the research into it was shut down and abandoned just as soon as she'd figured out that's what the scientists who'd originally been in charge of Team Go were up to. And for once she and Hego had been in complete agreement, which had made it a lot easier to get the project shut down, but even his concrete-like skull saw the sense in Shego's argument about how much more effective a superhero Superman would have been if no one had ever known about Kryptonite.

And just to be sure, later on, right after starting her life of crime, Shego had paid a visit to the lab and ensured that all the research was still in cold storage was misfiled, purged and otherwise subjected to permanent deletion. And the hardcopies? All disposed of via a remarkable series of misfiled and erased records, small fires and at least one instance of an entire computer being accidentally reclassified as scrap and sent to be dumped in the middle of the ocean as part of a project to form new coral reefs. And once Shego gained access to a certain brain washing shampoo, she'd literally erased the last memories of all those involved as well, so that not even the original head of the lab remembered now that there'd ever been tests along those lines at all.

Of course, with all that data gone, all that she knew was what she'd committed to memory and what she could guess from her own personal experience. And that was pretty simple. It seemed that almost external light source could get her green energy generating, though sunlight and sunlamps inevitably seemed to work the best… which was why her catsuits were made from a special Lycra fabric made for Tan-Thru swimsuits, which passed about 40% of the solar radiation through to her bare skin beneath. And as long as she had regular access to that, she could keep topping herself off pretty much constantly. When the light turned off, however, her batteries would begin to drop. Slowly at first, but accelerating as her reserves got closer to red-line, kind of like how the display on a solar-powered calculator would begin to fade even though the calculator part still worked. Which was a damned nuisance since, as a professional thief, she was often forced to work in the dark.

But what REALLY sucked about that was that if she were to keep using her powers once her internal reserves had dropped past a certain point, her rogue power began to tap into every other form of energy in her body. Which was a very, very bad thing. Theoretically she could actually drain herself dry and keel over dead, although the far more likely outcome was that she would simply pass out. Not that that was such a great thing to have happen in the middle of a fight either, of course. And what she'd also learned, the hard way, was that once her powers did start to turn vampire, her brain was one of the first things to feel the impact, with the result that her judgment became impaired as her mental functions slowed down and her higher cognitive abilities were overrun by raw instinct.

And when THAT that happened, as with a green-skinned comic book character Hego had been way too in love with as a boy, things started to get really ugly.

So while she put on a good show and maintained the pretence that her refusal to use her plasma for anything more than the occasional flashy flourish was due to her confidence in her other fighting skills, the truth was that her powers were a trick card that she had to miser miserably. Especially when fighting a foe who was already her near equal. Warmonga had actually beaten her down and she'd only gotten out of it thanks to the fact that she'd had time to recharge while Drakken gloated. And Possible… well, Shego STILL couldn't precisely remember the events of their epic battle during the Diablo disaster, the one time Kimmie had really let loose. At night. During a thunderstorm.

Which, all in all, made it a really good idea to keep as charged up as she possibly could. So she ate like a team of lumberjacks whenever she couldn't sunbathe, (and still began to get unpleasantly fashion-model skinny if she ate anything less than five full large meals a day,) and drank sweetened drinks by the gallon. But even if she gorged herself until her belly began to distend like a snake, the human digestive process just wasn't efficient enough to produce the kind of energy she got from simply lying out in the sun, like a reptile. And since the plastic based makeup she had to wear in order to pass as a normal human _completely_ blocked the absorption of _any_ solar rays, by the time she'd arrived in Dementia she'd been exhausted and the horse ride into Genovia had nearly wiped her out.

Fortunately, since it WAS a plastic (and because she shaved EVERYTHING except her eyebrows, lashes and hair,) the coating of normal appearance peeled off just like a snake's skin. There were a few stubborn places and the remover would definitely be required to finish around the areas where it had worked into her hairlines, but that was something that could wait until later. No one was going to see her up here and she wasn't going to get dressed again anytime soon, for while the moonlight would feel good and minimize the power drain, she'd have to wait until sunrise to really recharge her batteries. There was still input method number two to make up some of the difference however and she was starving.

How fortunate that there was an entire orchard of pears here, ripe for the taking.

###############################*

**STILL Sunday, October 6, **

_*** click- BEEP!***_

Well Diary, I've had what I'd say qualifies as another paradigm shift, so just in case I die in the next hour or two, I've ducked into the cloakroom to leave this message so that inquiring minds will be able to know what I was thinking in my last few moments on Planet Earth.

And what I'm thinking is that I've suddenly realized is that it's probably not going to be the assassins who kill me, it's going to be either boredom or sheer aggravation from having to deal with my my own fuc… er, my own fornicating relatives.

Okay, to be accurate they're not all my relatives. And I'm supposed to be at what I was told would be an "informal meeting of the cabinet, parliament and select distinguished citizens." But it still strikes me as kind of funny how they couldn't find _anyone_ in the entire country who wanted to be a Princess, yet now that I'm here suddenly everyone is related to the Renaldi's somehow. Or the Von Trokkens. If I have to confirm just one more time that "Yes, that someone certainly does have the "Renaldi Chin" or a "Von Trokken Nose," I think I'm going to scream. Who the hell cares?

Everyone here, that's who. And there are about two hundred of them crammed into this 'informal meeting' that has a six piece string and accordion sextet performing the works of Gerund Ablative, Genovia's most 'famous' composer… which, I'm sorry, to me mostly sound like someone scratching Phillip Glass albums.

And considering all the holes in our security, a looming domestic crisis and that the fuc… fornicating Royal Jet just went down in flames at somebody's pear farm a few hours ago, I really cannot believe these people. What planet are they living on? All anyone here seems to want to do is talk about the damn crop reports, their investment portfolios and just how lucky I am that someone like me has been presented with such a wonderful opportunity.

I'm sorry, did that last bit sound a little snide? Well it was supposed to, I guess. That's the point of a diary, right? To say in here what I'd really like to say out there, and maybe… just maybe… that'll let loose just enough of the steam that I don't let it slip on the ballroom floor.

I mean, a few minutes I actually had to sit there and listen to Helga Donatella von Troken tell me, to my face, that it was probably a good thing that my grandfather had opted not to ascend to the throne, given that "none of his children had shown any interest in politics, society functions or the history of Genovia."

It was all I could do to maintain a gritted smile as I replied that I thought the thousands of people my mother, one of the top three brain surgeons in the world, had cured were probably rather more glad she'd decided to make the focus of her career saving lives and working with international charities.

And apparently that gritted smile wasn't as 'smiley' as I thought it was, because HDVT went a little pale as I bit the last part off. Maybe it was because Helga is enough like Bonnie to make my skin crawl and that was showing through. Or maybe I just looked a little more severe in the evening mess uniform I'd liberated and chosen to wear instead of 'the dress.' Especially since it's a male dress uniform and I'd gotten approval to wear the Genovian versions of six of the medals I'd been awarded by the U.N.

Hey, they'd said it was informal. How was I to know that in Genovia that meant you didn't wear a cummerbund with your tux or more than six items of jewelry with your ball gown? And yes, I'm sure Paolo would be devastated upon hearing the news, but let HIM be the princess if he's the expert (and come to think of it, he'd probably make a better one than me, even if he is bald.) I wanted pants, sensible shoe and the ability to run really, really fast if I had to.

And I DID follow his makeup tips and try to walk the way he'd taught me to make up for it. I don't know if the ridiculous hip swaying motion was as silly as I thought it felt, but I did see more than a few Genovian nobles getting smacked by their wives for looking at their Princess to be's swishing ass.

Okay, and on the rather large subject of my ass, there are a lot of nobles and not so nobles out there who are probably wondering when I'm going to come out of this closet, so I'll sign this off with one last thought.

Thanks Mom. Not for just being a great mother and a hell of a human being, but also for suggesting this Kimmunicator idea. I've REALLY needed someone to talk to and so far Gloriana's the only person I've met that I can relate too. So having some place to vent is helping keep me a little more on focus.

And…

I love you and Dad… and even the tweebs. And I already miss you all more than I ever imagined possible.

And that sniff you just heard was because of the pollen. Really.

And now, back to the same old royal bullshit…

_*** click- BEEP!***_

###############################*

Completely nude and properly green, juice running down her face and her arms piled high with pilfered pears, Shego returned to her little picnic area/command base and her softly beeping tablet. Depositing the luscious purloined fruit on the towel, she looked every bit as delicious as she stretched languidly out beside them on her stomach as if sunbathing, wiped her mouth with the edge of one corner of the cloth and shut off her system's screensaver.

Perfect timing: her girls were just coming into range.

And better yet, there hadn't been a single loss. The image on here screen was just a flickering black and white at the moment, as most of the scouts were conserving as much power as they could for flight and only transmitting the view in infra red. However, the combined matrix was more than enough for the tablet to match the picture with the webmaps images and blueprints of the castle and locate her primary target.

Kim's bedroom, of course.

Spooking the girl's escort into abandoning the majority of her gear had been a major part of Shego's plan. No matter what kind of state of the art security devices Wade Load might have devised to protect Kim's new residence, it wasn't going to do the Princess any good if it was still back on a runway in Upperton. No doubt it was already in route and could be arriving within the next few hours… but since GJ didn't have any pilots who were rated to fly a Hover transatlantic, it was going to have to come by air. And Shego knew both that Kim had arrived on a armored transport that would have left Grand Fenwick before any flight from the USA would have arrived AND that there hadn't been anything other than local flights into Genovia at all.

Of course, Shego hadn't counted on having to come in by horse, (the motorcycle she'd arranged for having been stolen by some enterprising thief,) so she'd lost a little time herself. Time enough, according to Shego's mole at the DOD, for the redhead to have somehow managed to co-opt a couple of spy satellites to ride shotgun over the castle perimeter.

But that was just a hasty band-aid, and aside from the eyes in the sky, the odds were good that tonight, and for tonight only, Shego would be basically against nothing more than Genovian Security and whatever Kim had managed to hand carry in the mad rush to get on the jet. And that would be about as good as it got.

Moving in slow, spiraling descents that would have looked like dragonflies dancing were anyone to happen to look in exactly the right place at exactly the right time, the lead scouts advanced in a wide semicircle that covered all possible viewing positions of the north tower.

Licking her lips, Shego reached for a pear and put it next to the tablet before picking up the controller. There was a lot an AI could do, but the next bit would require the touch of a professional thief who also happened to be a world class pilot.

As the scouts finally descended to the level of the seventh floor, Shego toggled the altitude control for the first time, stabilizing the hovering scouts as they simultaneously rotated about their axis in complete 360 degree circles. Amazingly, they only spotted two pairs of guards and BOTH of those pairs were within fifty feet of each other, on opposite sides of the main gate.

Well, maybe people who weren't plasma-charged might find the night a little nippy, the green woman mused as she idly scratched one naked breast. Or maybe they were too impressed with the idea of spy-sat surveillance and there were more guards inside. But it was still pathetically lax.

Selecting the centermost copter to be the queen, Shego switched on full visuals for a better view of the tower and Princess' bedroom and was rewarded with a full color view of the room from an apparent perspective of 30 feet. Dark. No lights. And scans in both infra red and ultra-violet revealed no tell-tale alarm beams. It all looked good. With any luck, she'd be able to get her spies planted before Possible came up for the evening.

Darting in from the far left, a second copter zipped in and Shego quickly steered it to the window ledge. Delicately, as there could be some kind of pressure sensitive switch concealed in the masonry or ancient woodwork. Or something that she hadn't thought of.

But nothing happened. While its companions continued to flit around and map the courtyard, the vanguard copter simply sat and waited for lights to come on, a bell to ring or a monkey with a crowbar to come out of a hidden door and smash the copter to bits.

And after a long minute, Shego finally let out the breath she'd been holding.

Whatever defenses the room might have, they certainly weren't active enough to catch her babies. And with that assurance, she powered up the copter again to do a left to right sweep of the window itself, revealing that it opened outward and was firmly closed, as expected. What a shame. Not that she'd really expected to find an open port of entry into the room… the odds of it being THAT easy were ridiculously low… but a girl could hope, couldn't she?.

Instead she sent another copter to join the first on the ledge, and then another. Between the three of them, their mistress now had an excellent stereoscopic view of the room beyond.

It was surprisingly dull. A few framed pictures of old people, a large four post bed, a large trunk at the base of it and door that lead outside, an elaborate chest of drawers and, most importantly from Shego's point of view, a small vanity desk with a large mirror.

Fixing the copters' sensors on the reflective surface of the attached mirror, she completed what was a nearly 250 degree sweep of the room, adding another door that most likely went to a closet to what she knew about the interior. Better yet, that door ALSO had a mirror on it, so as a fourth copter darted in to hover at the top of the window and added its perspective through the first mirror and back through the second, her computer's database now had a good idea of what was in all but a small section of the room. She could even see an extrapolated view looking back towards the window itself, and that let her see that there were no obvious wires or sensors connected to the frame.

Unbelievable. The total security for the room seemed to be that it was up really high and a thick door with a turn of the 20th century lock.

This was going to be almost too easy.

Setting the mini-copters to monitor for motion, Shego set the tablet to alert her when someone entered the room, reduced the image to a corner of the screen and pulled up one of the e-books she'd loaded before leaving the U.S. She'd heard conflicting reports on it, but she might be waiting a while and she wanted something that was going to keep her interest up.

Lying naked on her towel as she spied into Kim Possible's castle bedchamber, Shego poured herself a cup of tea, unwrapped her sandwich and started to read the first chapter of FIFTY SHADES OF BLACK AND WHITE.

_**To Be Continued…**_

#################################*

_**Author's Notes: **_Yes! This story is back at last… Of course, how could I not pick it up again after it was the co-winner of the 2011 FANNIE AWARD for BEST KIGO? So, along with AT THE CENTERFOLD OF THE STORM (now the winner of Eight Fannies, including 2011's Best Overall,) and THE BACK UP PLAN (2011 FANNIE AWARD for BEST CROSSOVER/FUSION,) I'll be putting this story on a rotating schedule of alternating chapters as a way of thanking all of you who've supported these tales. There will most likely be another ATCOTS before the sixth chapter of Princess Diaries hits, but given that this chapter had actually run to well over 7000 words before I decided to cut off the back half and make it into two chapters, you'll probably see Chapter 6 of PRINCESS DIARIES before the next BACK UP PLAN. Also, VERY IMPORTANT – as you may have noticed, I've pushed the rating of this story up to 'M.' It's pretty clear from where my notes are going that it's going to get a little more adult-ish, and since the original reason for the T was for a contest it didn't get entered in… I'd rather not sit there wondering if I've gone too far over that rating with each new chapter. Yes, it's loosely based on a book aimed at Young Adults book, but if you look at where the end of 1-800-Missing You went, I think you'll find this to run in the same general direction. Except for the KiGo, of course.

And finally, for those who've asked in e-mails and PMs since I last posted a chapter, yes, it IS a KiGo story. It's just going to get there in a rather more roundabout way. Hope you enjoyed this one that all the necessary back story didn't get a bit too much… and if it did, well… we should be back with a much more Kim-centric chapter VERY soon!

#########################################

_**Legal disclaimers**: Kim Possible, Shego, Dr. Betty Director, Wade Load, Professor Dementor, Dr. Drakken, Dr. Anne Possible, Dr. James Possible and Jim and Tim Possible, aka The Tweebs,and Global Justice are the creations of Mark McCorkle and Bob Schooley, and those names are all trademarks of the Disney media organizations. The Renaldi Dynsty, Joseph, Paolo and the nation of Genovia are the creations of Meg Cabot, and her The Princess Diaries novels have also been made into two feature films by the aforementioned Disney. Grand Duchess Glorianna and the Duchy of Grand Fenwick are the creations of Leonard Wibberly and appear in his wonderful THE MOUSE THAT ROARED series of novels. Use in use in this context is probably considered fair under parody law, but just in case: this work was not created for profit, no money changed hands etc. Also, this story takes place at a time at which all sexually active human characters are over the age of 18 and are legally consenting adults.._


End file.
